


Love Poem

by bowtieowl



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Editor Laurent, Fluff, M/M, Writer Damen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7676128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowtieowl/pseuds/bowtieowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurent is an editor who cannot - will not - get through the final meeting with his client who writes the most infuriatingly beautiful love poems of all times. He's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Poem

**Author's Note:**

> A very scatterbrained attempt to write a tiny birthday present for Laura. I hope you like this even though it is what it is. ♥

There aren't many days Laurent all but hates his job. He can take those salty remarks when people ask him if he's not good enough a writer so he has to be an editor. And he can even take those really bad scripts that land on his desk every now and again, some of which he even has to revisit because someone deems the garbage set somewhere between vampire smut and undiagnosed teenage depression worthy of his time and the publisher's money. Laurent can take all that and more. What he can't take is yet another feedback session with Damen.

It's supposed to be their final one. The next time they see each other, it will be with a whole bunch of other people responsible for design and typesetting as well as Damen's agent. There's a lot of money involved. Way more than they would usually spend on a collection of poems. Poems of all things.

Laurent reads for the first lines again, his eyes scanning both Damen's text as well as his corrections. It's the kind of gem you don't see too often anymore. Words so raw and strong they cut straight to the core. Damen has nothing from this superficial flowery word bouquets that seem so popular at the moment. His poems are simple and true. Their elegance comes from a strength you can only discover deep within the truth and sometimes even only beyond it.

There have been tears. Actual tears that Laurent cried over those words. Once he even caught himself brushing his fingertips over those words, back when Damen asked if maybe he could stop sending in digital files and send Laurent handwritten texts instead. Everyone else Laurent would have sent away. But not Damen. Not even when it took them twice as long to go through the edits like this.

"It's about craftsmanship," Damen said back then. "About turning your thoughts into something real. It never feels quite like that on a computer."

Laurent still doesn't know how to feel about that. He knows a lot of people who prefer to write with a pen but never has it ever felt quite this honest.

With a sigh, Laurent pinches the bridge of his nose and leans back. Their appointment is in an hour and without thinking too much about it, Laurent sends his client an e-mail and cancels. He's sick. Sick and very sorry. But there aren't many more things to change. That's what Laurent writes. Only some minor corrections. Then the part he only puts in to show good manners. That he's sorry he won't be able to attend the big meeting but that he wishes Damen all the best luck. He will of course be informed about all major decisions by his secretary and then start to plan everything surrounding the book. That hopefully they will see each other at the launch party. Laurent already plans to cancel that as well.

He clicks send and it doesn't take long for Damen to write back. Only a handful of words. Like always.

'I'm very sorry to hear that,' Damen writes. And then, 'Hopefully we will see each other again. Feel better soon.'

Laurent turns off his computer and leaves. He takes a walk in the park that lasts roughly five hours and he's tired, numb and internally silent when he finally gets home to be greeted by his cat.

"We don't need love poems like that, little friend, right?" Laurent scratches his cat behind the ear. "Nobody needs love poems like that."

He really takes the next couple days off. The ironic part is that he doesn't have to fake a migraine.

When he returns he does get the expected speech from his boss. About professional behavior and what a writer must feel like to be kept hanging like that. He has 169 unanswered mails and 17 missed calls. Nothing from Damen. His secretary updates him on his project. The last folder is about Damen's book. She shows him the fonts they decided on and the style of it. She shows him the cover design. Laurent barely looks. Until she nudges him.

"What did you do to him, hm?" She winks and her pink ponytail seems to bounce as well. Fiona is one of a kind.

Laurent frowns. "What?"

"To have a man like that write something like this… You sly fox."

Laurent is still confused and looks at the folder on his desk again. The first draft for the cover design. It will need a lot of work still. It's just Damen's first vision of what it could be so the graphic team can work with it. But there's one thing that stands out. Six letters that are completely new to Laurent.

"He found a title," Laurent whispers and his eyes are wide. He feels like his heart is to beating too fast and at the same time not at all.

"And what a title… " Fiona laughs and pats Laurent's back. "One hell of a title."

Laurent keeps staring. Even when Fiona leaves the room. Even when his computer gives a quiet bing to inform him of his 170th message. It's Damen asking him if he's okay. If maybe he's gone too far. But Laurent will only read that later. He won't reply. Instead he'll turn off his computer and drive to Damen's apartment downtown. He'll ring the bell four times without any patience until a slightly drunk and very tired Damen will open the door, genuinely surprised to see him and then they'll kiss. Urgently. Passionately. With just as much heat as you can ignite written between the lines.

But that's later. Because right now Laurent just sits and stares and reads over and over again those six letters. The title of the most beautiful collection of love poems he's ever had the pleasure to read.

_DeVere._


End file.
